Ode to cold union of bark and scratch mark
To tangles of my hair to anxious branches
I’ve been here before, this graveyard of trees
I know you’re used for swing sets, for labyrinths for fauns and sometimes daggers
This risk is one I’m willing to take for I know the passage is dangerous
But if I pass and land somewhere among the shells of beechnuts
I will have found the much anticipated cocoon of my infancy
Like the daughter of the moon finding the last portal back to her underground home
I will leave traces of my time on earth, for those who know where to find them
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